


Summer Rain

by noblydonedonnanoble



Series: Waiting on the Sun to Go Down [2]
Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-18
Updated: 2012-07-18
Packaged: 2017-11-10 06:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblydonedonnanoble/pseuds/noblydonedonnanoble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bb!Tatennant</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Rain

                I can’t stop grinning.

                I haven’t been able to stop for over a month, now, ever since Catherine and I started dating. She turns me into a blubbering idiot, and for some reason she finds that endearing. Well, she hasn’t told me so, but I assume that this is the case because I can’t imagine another reason for her to be interested in me. I’m younger than her, for one thing, and incapable of exuding confidence when I’m not standing up on stage. So the whole endearing factor is clearly the only thing going for me.

                Also, from the contented faces she’s been making all evening, the fact that I can cook probably helps.

                We’re sitting up on my roof—it’s not the most original idea of all time, but I set up reclining lawn chairs and a table and even brought up a portable radio so that we can listen to some music.

                She keeps telling me that this is the sweetest gesture ever.

                Once we’ve eaten, the two of us turn our chairs to the west so that we can watch the sunset.

                After some chit chat, I shyly ask if she would care to just share my chair, and with a small giggle—I’m worth giggling over, I can’t believe I’m worth giggling over—she stands up. I sit up slightly and put my feet on the ground so that she can settle in between my legs, back against my chest. I wrap my arms around her waist and rest my chin on her shoulder. “Hello.”

                “Hi David.” Her hands go to cover mine, her head turns slightly so that she can look at me out of the corner of her eye. “Having a good evening?”

                “With you here, how could I not?” I sound like a prat. I sound like I’m willing to say anything just to shag her.

                And admittedly, the concept of such an event occurring has crossed my mind. Not necessarily as something I’m desperate for, but simply as a series of other events. Meeting. Liking. Dating. Snogging. Inching past snogging. Shagging each other senseless.

                It’s a pretty reasonable timeline; it’s the path that most relationships follow, and I’d like this one to be among those. But really, I can’t help it if I wouldn’t mind it inching forward at a slightly faster pace.

                But as long as she seems to be content with just cuddling, as long as she’s happy with our kisses, when I say that I’m having a good evening just because I’m with her, I’m being sincere.

                “Well, I mean, it could be raining.”

                No. Not even funny.

                Even less funny when it actually begins to drizzle. “Y’know, Catherine, before you came into my life, it was simple. Nice and simple. No one around who could control the weather by saying, ‘Could be raining’. That’s all you.”

                “At least—“

                “Stop. No.” For the sake of at least trying to shut her up, I start to kiss her neck; I’d kiss her full-on, but she’s facing too far away from me. And really, I’ll do anything to keep her from saying, “At least it’s not pouring.”

                Catherine giggles again. “I can take a hint.” She turns her whole body, so that my hands are resting on her hip instead of her stomach. “You’re going to have to work harder to shut me up, though.”

                “I will take that challenge.”

                One of us kisses the other—my intent was fairly clear, so I can’t exactly take claim that I’m the one who closes the distance.

                I love snogging Catherine. I love the taste of her lips and her tongue, and I love how she instinctually knows what to do with her hands. That is another reason I’m willing to put off the shagging—just this is so intense, so _right_ and _perfect_ , that I know when it finally happens, it will have to be equally incredible.

                And I like the way the rain is making her hair just a little bit damp, the way it’s rolling down strands that have flown free of her ponytail. One of her hands has pushed my shirt up slightly, and I like the way I can feel every drop of water on my skin.

                She pulls away slightly and rests her forehead against mine. “See David, a little bit of rain isn’t all that bad.”

                “Don’t—“

                It begins to rain harder. She laughs, gazing up at the sky. Water has begun to permeate my clothes, and it looks like Catherine’s as well. “We should probably go inside,” I murmur.

                “It’s only a bit of water; that never hurt anybody.”

                “God damn it!”

                The rain keeps pounding down harder and harder and Catherine looks unacceptably pleased with herself. “David, c’mon, I thought I was the superstitious one.”

                “You are. Horoscopes are nonsense.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s simply a proven fact that when you say something like, ‘At least it’s not raining,’ it will begin to rain.”

                She kisses me lightly. “You’re absurd.”

                “But you love me anyway.”

                As soon as the words come out of my mouth, it occurs to me how outlandish and bold the statement is. We met two months ago, began dating maybe a month and a half ago. The word “love” has not anywhere near fallen into conversation. Perhaps it’s popped into my head once or twice, as a passing thought, but it’s never occurred to me to actually _say_.      

                What if it spooks her?

                It apparently doesn’t. With a smile, she mumbles, “That I do,” before kissing me again.

                Getting out of the rain goes on the backburner for a moment while I get lost in her lips traveling across my skin. But when I open my eyes and realize that I can hardly see her, I say, “Inside, Catherine. Before we get pneumonia.”

                “You’re no fun.” But she hops up, holding her hands out to pull me off the chair. With the sudden added weight of the rest of my body, my feet take this opportunity to slide on the ground and I stumble forward, my face coming rather close to her chest before she grabs me and sets me straight. “Well David, if you were so desperate to see my breasts, all you had to do was ask.”

                Her voice is teasing, but I’m still processing my observations from those few moments. Because the rain has made her thin shirt vaguely see-through. And I could swear I detected, from my up-close and personal vantage point, some lace.

                Even from my fairly limited experience, I’ve observed that _lace_ generally also implied _sex_.

                Which in and of itself implies that Catherine had some distinct plans about the later part of our date.

                So, with that in mind, I grin devilishly at her. “May I see your breasts, please?”

                Clearly, she’s torn between shock and amusement. As far as I can tell, though, she’s not _angry_ ; she just seems surprised that I actually asked.

                But she shrugs. And standing in the pouring rain, as it pounds against our faces, she grabs the hem of her shirt. I’m about to suggest that we could go inside and continue along this line of events—because this is a good line of events if I ever saw one—but before I can even get the first word out she’s pulling it over her head.

                Her skin is pale, which doesn’t surprise me; she’s told me countless times that any ginger who actually goes outside without copious amounts of sunscreen on clearly has a death wish. But in this light, with the sun setting almost directly behind her, it looks as if she’s glowing.

                The lace that I so cleverly observed moment ago is in the form of a purple bra. It’s raining so hard that it gets soaked almost immediately.

                I take a few steps closer, transfixed. “Catherine, I think you’re a bit wet.”

                “Water does tend to have that effect, yes.” She cocks her head at me, stepping closer still. “I’m feeling unfairly exposed here David.”

                My shirt is crumpled up in my hand within seconds. “There, now we match. Well…” I reach out, rub some of the lace between my thumb and forefinger. “We almost match.”

                She turns so that I’m looking at her back. Her ponytail is clinging to her neck, but she sweeps it up anyway. “Go on, then.”

                Not fair. I’ve fumbled with relatively few bras in my life, and generally the woman realizes after the first time that it’s a bad idea and takes it off herself. But I successfully pull the clasp free, and when she looks at me she’s smiling and all of a sudden, she actually looks _modest_. Not embarrassed, not regretful, just… modest. “You’re gorgeous, Catherine. Have I mentioned that lately?”

                “As a matter of fact, yes. Thankfully, because it means I know you’re not just telling me this because I’m standing in front of you half-naked.”

                I shake my head. “’Course not. I always think you’re gorgeous. You standing in front of me half-naked just gives me an excuse to say it without sounding like a wimp.”

                She giggles and kisses me.

                My hands immediately go to her breasts, because you can’t look at a woman like Catherine and _not_ imagine what it would be like to actually feel those breasts under your fingers, with no fabric in between your skin and hers.

                One of my thumbs brushes lightly across her nipple, and even over the pelting rain I hear her moan softly. I take the noise as an indication that she appreciates it, and repeat the action, pressing just a bit harder.

                Her hand is at my belt, tugging on the buckle and eventually getting it open.

                Is she really thinking of fucking me up here on the roof in the rain?

                Most likely, I should stop her and bring her down to my flat but I don’t want to, not when I tweak one of her nipples and she moans my name into my mouth.

                And suddenly the sound all around us eases up. We pull apart and look around to see that the rain is slowing, until it’s only a drizzle… and then it stops.

                “Oh.”

                “Oh?”

                “It appears that I won’t have the opportunity to cross ‘Shag in the rain’ off my bucket list.”

                I gape at her.

                “I’m teasing, David.” I nod slightly, but then she adds, “Why on earth would I actually _write down_ my bucket list?”

                While I’m stumbling over something to say, she unfurls her shirt, pulling it back on. Her bra remains off, but I wouldn’t expect her to put it on in its soaked condition. Finally, “And you’re not willing to cross ‘Shag on a roof’ off your bucket list?”

                “That’s not on it.”

                “I don’t… But… That’s not…” Catherine backs away from me slightly, in the direction of the door back into my building. “I don’t like the weather out here, David. Shall we continue this in your flat?”

                I chase her down the stairs, shouting that it’s unreasonable of her to refuse to shag me outside just because water isn’t pouring down on us.

                When we pass by some other people on the floor above me, I shut my mouth and ignore the way that they stare at my bare chest.

                Catherine can’t stop grinning.


End file.
